A city's lights dimmed

Normally, at night, here in our mountain city, I see the twinkling lights of downtown through the upstairs windows, even now as the leaves have expanded on the trees in in our woodland forest.

But now, the distant view is dulled, absent the usual lights of the two hotels and seemingly, the visitor center parking lot, too.  Not many twinkling lights at all.

That's not a bad thing, necessarily, I guess, but it reflects the dimming of the activity and vibrancy in our place here, too.

A slowed pace around the world has brought clear skies, louder bird songs, and a reduced presence of human life;  curious.

As I am wakeful, I wonder about that. 

Fresh greens yesterday from the garden

I rehearse in my mind about how I'll encourage people around growing warm-season vegetables in an online program on Saturday. 

How many of you are newbies?  I hope I'll be able to ask.  But the format will be new to me, as well to many of them, I imagine.  So we'll see.

My cool-season vegetable garden has been of great comfort to me, in these times, providing spinach, collards, kale, lettuce, chives, and herbs. 

I'm thankful for it.  A harvest of greens yesterday, along with a spinach harvest -- well, it's a good thing.